To that girl whose pillow she bathes in her own tears every night, her voice hoarse with the unspoken words that sit in her throat. Words she wished she could say to stand up for herself, and for other rape victims. Her legs ache and her eyes seem permanently red-rimmed. Her closet shelters long-sleeved shirts, because everyone knows they hide the scars best. The scars paint pictures of pain across her arms, but those half moon crescent-shaped scars on her wrists somehow change into a half moon crescent-shaped smile as she gets ready for school in the morning. A facade she is now flawless at keeping. To that girl who survives.

To that boy whose back strains from carrying his baby sister all day, as the other kids go to school. His head aches from her cries, which he so lovingly bears, to shelter her from the crime. The cabinets in his home are littered with cobwebs, and the cupboard beneath the sink holds one beer bottle as a souvenir from every man his mother brought home that week. His shirt is stained from her sister’s innocent tears, and his heart is stained not knowing where their next meal will come from, or if it will come at all. His crying eyes are the colour of honey in the moonlight, but his voice is like honey as it dribbles into his sleepy sister’s every night, as the moonlight falls through the window. To that boy who survives.

To you. Whose mind wonders why you could not have been born with that perfect body advertised in the Gilette or L’oreal commercial. Whose heart swells at the problems of others, embracing and warm to those in need, but retreats when your own problems are just too much to handle. Whose life is more than a typical rollercoaster, it is a car with a drunk driver, an airplane out of control. Whose love is louder, and hate is unheard of. Who are targetted and put on the spot, bullied, ridiculed, and picked on, but chose to stay strong. To you, who survive.

To the victims of society, of hardships, and life. To those who survive.

Keep on surviving. We believe in you.